


A Diamond's Edge

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dancing, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Gambling, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Partying, Recreational Drug Use, Rumors, The Great Gatsby AU, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: Old money and new, social climbers and recluses, drug lords and politicians alike all flock to Hannibal Lecter's estate on the weekend in the hopes of catching the attention of the rarely seen socialite during one of his extravagant parties. It is only when Jack Crawford moves in next door that Hannibal sees an opportunity to finally lure in the one person he truly seeks...
The one with the green light at the end of his dock.





	1. The Great Depression

**Author's Note:**

> Cover by the marvelous [pancakeispeople](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakeispeople/) \- AO3 /// [vulcanplomeeksoup](http://vulcanplomeeksoup.tumblr.com/) \- Tumblr. Thank you again, darling <3

Untethering the white rope from around its post, Jack Crawford held himself steady in his small boat as he reached over its edge to unwind the knots keeping him moored. A gentle breeze disturbed the calm waters of the bay, water sloshing against his dock post as the final knot loosened. He pulled the rope into the boat and started the motor, steering _La Bella Strada_ towards the opposite side of the bay. The journey across the bay from East to West Pulmonata was no more than a mile, but they might as well be worlds apart. From the size and aesthetics of the mansions that dotted the shores, to the families that inhabited them, their only commonality was their shared status among the upper echelons of the moneyed. But what grated on Jack, made his skin feel too tight and itch with the desire of release, was the imperious temperaments of East Pulmonata residents. The wind rustling his clothes and making the tail end of his jacket whip wildly behind him made the muscles of his chest relax as his destination in the West pulled closer.

Will Graham cut an impressive shape from his position on the dock. His arms were bowed from his sides as his hands rested in the pockets of his brown trousers. The forest green sweater he was wearing accentuated his slim figure, its fit making it evident that he had gained muscle mass since their last encounter five years past. It was one thing for Jack to hear of Will’s recovery, but another to see it in person.

“Pass me the rope,” Will said once Jack had turned off the motor and coasted up to the side of his dock. Will made quick work of tying his boat to the post and then held out his hand to help Jack out. Jack took it graciously.

“Will, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s only through the distance of time I find I can return the sentiment.” A gust of wind swept through the bay, tussling Will’s perpetually untamed curls and causing him to turn away from the wind, a smile softening his profile. Will laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder and began guiding him towards the mansion he’d called home for the last four years.

“I never saw you living in a place like this.”

“Neither did I, but it’s Molly’s now that her parents have passed. I couldn’t ask her to give up the family home in favor of that old shack of mine in Wolf Trap.”

Memories of Will’s old house reminded Jack of loneliness and brimming madness. “You loved that house.”

“At one point I did.” One of Will’s dogs came trotting over to be pet, only turning to Jack after Will had rubbed behind her ears. Jack held out his hand to be smelled, which meant he passed some sort of test in the dog’s mind because she nuzzled his hand in approval. “But that time has long since passed. All I need is a space for my boat motors and land for my dogs. I have all that here.”

“How many do you have now?” Jack asked, unable to stop himself. He could remember thinking that Will had more dogs than friends when he first encountered his pack; a remembrance that seemed poignant now as he looked down at the dog loyally walking beside Will.

“Ten. A few you’ll remember, but most you won’t. Daisy here is new. I found her wandering through an alley in Manhattan a month or so ago. Molly wasn’t thrilled when she saw what I’d been doing with my time while she was working.”

“In all fairness to Molly, I don’t think there are many people who would be.”

Will and Jack chuckled as they ascended the brick steps to the patio. Jack turned once he’d reached the top and looked over the expansive landscape of Will’s waterfront property. Sugar maples lined the edges of the estate to allow for a sense of privacy and bushes in bloom along the border of the patio and walkway that led to a white marble fountain added a splash of color. There was a hammock set up near the water’s edge and Jack wondered how often Will utilized it. Whether he was more inclined to doze in the sun’s rays or observe the stars at night.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?”

“Paradise,” Jack replied and turned to observed Will, his placid expression giving away nothing of the machinations at work inside his skull. “I bet you can even fish off the dock.”

Shaking his head, Will pointed at Jack’s boat. “Not many fish come into the bay because of all the boat activity. I have to go out about a quarter mile from the bay to get any real fishing done.”

“You have to put work into it.”

Will smirked and turned back around to face the house. “Not much, but it does require some effort.”

Jack followed Will into the large, white stone mansion that looked more like a hedge fund manager’s dream come true than a fifty year old family home. The sitting room was tastefully decorated in shades of cream and eggshell blue, the massive limestone fireplace acting as the room’s focal point while the vaulted ceiling acted as a sounding board for the sun pouring in through the windows. It was the type of room used to awe guests and give a glimpse into the home’s overall grandeur, and Jack felt duly impressed. The only thing ruining the room’s effect was Winston sitting in a dog bed with a Maltese facing the door they came through, most likely waiting for Will’s return. Jack watched Will’s faithful companion watch him as he left the room.

“We can eat in the kitchen if you like, but I thought you’d prefer the sun room.”

After walking down a hallway past an expansive kitchen, Will opened the glass paneled French doors to the sun room. Floor to ceiling windows were the only barrier between them and the backyard, some of them having been turned so the wind came billowing into the room. A white iron and glass table sat in the center of the space with their lunch plates sheathed beneath silver cloches. Jack took his seat across from Will as he lifted the cloches to reveal their lunch.

“Pan seared bass with a lemon garlic herb butter sauce.” Will sat down and offered Jack a small, albeit genuine, smile. “Caught it myself.”

“This looks delicious, Will. Thank you.”

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, finishing the bass and ending the meal with coffee and a tray of biscotti.

“My compliments to the chef,” Jack said as he took another bite of his chocolate biscotti.

“Chefs,” Will corrected, setting down his coffee. “Molly made the biscotti. She baked them just for you.”

“How is she?”

“She’s good. She’s with Abigail over at a friend’s house. They’ll be here soon enough.”

Jack remembered getting the birth announcement in the mail and sending a stuffed animal that he’d had made to look like Winston. The letter accompanying the gift was the last signed by both him and Bella. “Abigail is, what, three now?”

“Three and a half if you ask her.” Will’s face lit up with paternal pride. It looked good on him. His face shifted into a serious expression when he turned back to Jack. “I’m sorry about Bella. I didn’t know her well, but I know she meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Jack responded, concentrating on the finger he was gliding along the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s been hard without her. It sounds horrible, but it’s nice to look around and not be constantly reminded of her.”

“You went right back to work after she passed, Jack. You didn’t give yourself enough time to heal.”

“That’s exactly what Henriksen said when he signed my sabbatical papers and told me to get the hell out of his office.”

Both laughed, remembering how brash Assistant Director Victor Henriksen could be. The man had a heart of gold, but he was terrible with words and anything that had to do with feelings.

“So which house are you leasing?”

“The bungalow across the way.”

“Not the big house?”

“That behemoth?” Jack laughed, looking over his shoulder and out across the bay. “Couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to. No, I’m staying in what once served as its butler’s quarters.”

Will nodded. “Molly said nobody has lived there in years. I asked why the family didn’t sell it, but apparently selling a two hundred year old mansion that’s been in the family for six generations is a touchy subject.”

“The wealthy are a puzzling breed. Do houses ever go up for sale in here?”

“Most of these houses are passed down, especially the ones over in East Pulmonata. Last time a house was sold was two years ago. Caused quite the stir when some pretentious millionaire bought it and did a complete renovation of the place.” Will shook his head at the memory. “I almost went to a charity gala they were hosting to benefit the animal shelters of the greater Manhattan area. Would’ve given Molly the excuse she’s been looking for to check it out, but Abigail got an ear infection, so we had to stay home.”

“Are you talking about the house next to me?” When Will confirmed his suspicion, Jack tried to remember the name he’d heard mentioned by a drunk couple he’d encountered a week ago after they’d left a party at the house in question. “I’ve never met him, but I think I heard someone say his last name is Lecter.”

A sharpness came to Will’s features, the contrast to his previous expression as stark as night and day. It was as if he had been seeing Will through a fog, his sights distorted and deceiving. There was a fire in his eyes now, a desperation and hope that danced madly beneath a cracked façade of polite curiosity. “Lecter? Which Lecter?”

“Oh, Will, there you are!” Molly exclaimed, hurrying into the room and effectively slicing through the sudden tension. Will looked startled for a second, but recovered quickly with the - what Jack now knew to be misleading - outwardly placid face he’d been wearing since he arrived. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hello, Molly,” he replied courteously, even knowing that her attention had already turned back to Will.

“Did you pick up your new suit?”

“No, I was going to get it after lunch.”

Irritation flashed across her soft features, but was gone in an instant. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to cut this short. I need you to go and pick that suit up now so we can make the helicopter on time.”

“What helicopter?” Will asked, a trace of annoyance slipping into his tone.

“Alana called a helicopter to fly us into the city so we could avoid the flooding. Please, I really am sorry, but you know how important this is to Alana and Margot.” Molly turned to face Jack with a smile. “It’s so wonderful. After years of effort, they’ve finally converted all the Verger ranches and farms so they’re cage-less and free range. Tonight is the official celebration.”

Jack took in Molly’s bright eyes and smile, her perfectly straightened hair, the evidently tailored pen skirt suit. She carried herself like wealthy people did, which is to say with reckless grace and naivety afforded by having a lot of zeroes after the first whole number in their bank statements. He wasn’t going to say anything, wasn’t going to comment that even though the means had changed, the end was still the same.

“A public pat on the back for butchering more ethically.”

Feeling his eyebrows raise at the backhanded compliment, Jack was struck for the first time that this was the first thing Will had said that even remotely approached how he used to sound. It would seem that the jagged edges he was known for were still there, buried beneath domesticity and a kind exterior. Molly gasped and rounded on Will, looking askance and ready to reprimand, when a small girl came running into the room.

“Daddy!”

“Come here, honeybee.” Will leaned down with open arms, giving Abigail a big hug and lifting her so she sat in his lap, welcoming her interruption. She looked across the table at Jack and smiled, her baby teeth proudly on display.

“What’s your name?”

“Jack. And am I right in assuming you’re the beautiful Abigail?”

“Yes,” she replied excitedly. “Would you like to meet my dog?”

“Abigail, we don’t -” Molly started.

“But I want him to meet Bella!” With her exclamation, she used both arms to plop her stuffed dog on the table, barely avoiding the biscotti tray. Jack felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw that her dog was, in fact, the Winston stuffed animal he’d sent her, just dirtier and obviously well loved. Will and Jack exchanged a look, Jack conveying with a watery smile that he was okay.

“Her name is Bella?”

“Yes! I think it’s a pretty name. Do you think it’s a pretty name?”

It took more effort than he would like to keep himself in check so he wouldn’t cry, not wanting to see a cloud cross over her happy face and dim the brilliant blue of her eyes. “I think it’s the prettiest name in the world.”

“Will, why don’t you take her to go get your suit?”

Abigail squealed in excitement and Will smiled at her, running a hand through her long, dark hair. “Alright. Let me just see Jack out and -”

“No, I’ll see him out. You need to get going. We’re on a time crunch.”

“I have enough time to walk Jack out.”

“You would if you had already picked up your suit, but since you didn’t...” Molly trailed off, her stance showing that she wasn’t budging on her point.

Molly and Will had a standoff of sorts, the kind married couples do when neither speaks but both exchange looks of varying degrees of disapproval. Jack watched as Abigail, unaware of the tension, giggled and showed him the leg Will had sown back onto Bella after she had accidentally ripped it off when pulling her out of her toy chest. Tempted to play along, Jack was about to ask if Bella had any friends when Will broke eye contact with Molly.

“I’m sorry our lunch got cut short, Jack. We should get together again, pick up where we left off.” Will cast him an imploring look, whose meaning Jack couldn’t place, before he hitched his daughter onto his hip and left the room after bidding him farewell.

Walking towards his boat through the backyard, Jack and Molly conversed about the agreeable weather and how she was thrilled someone Will knew moved into the area since he – still - didn’t have many friends. Jack agreed to come over for dinner sometime soon before setting course for his dock, all the while oblivious to a man watching him from a turret in his large, newly renovated home.


	2. The Roaring Twenties

A loud knock drew Jack’s attention away from his laptop and towards the front door. Taking off his glasses, he set them down on his desk and walked into the living room. Seeing through the glass that there was someone waiting for him, Jack opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Jack Crawford?”

Jack took in the man’s appearance and realized that his formal attire was reminiscent of a butler’s. He was also holding out a silver platter that held an envelope with his name written in flowing cursive across it.

“Yes.”

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter would like to cordially invite you to the festivities tonight at his residence.”

The butler held out the platter and Jack took the envelope in hand, turning it over and observing the red wax seal holding it closed, which had a family crest or emblem of some sort pressed into it. His mental rolodex started to spin when he heard the name, memories triggered but unidentifiable at the moment. He wasn’t really in the mood to attend a party, especially one which could get quite raucous from what he heard every weekend since he arrived, but he would be his neighbor for the next year or so and there was the possibility that he knew him. For now, he decided that his best move would be to play along.

After thanking the butler and retreating back inside, Jack took a nap in preparation for the party. A part of him felt as if the move aged him, reminded him that he was no longer young enough to work all day and stay up all night for parties, but he felt that if he was to be in good spirits for his neighbor, he would need the rest. Once he woke, he put on his best suit, slipped the invite into the inner pocket of his jacket, and made his way over to Dr. Lecter’s property.

Waves of well dressed people were making their way through the wrought iron gates of Lecter’s estate when Jack stepped onto the sidewalk along the street. Most of the people he could see seemed to be in their twenties and thirties, making him feel even more out of place than he already was. They were all laughing and talking, calling out to their friends, cheering about the party. He felt like a man adrift in a sea of people.

“Excuse me!” Jack called over the din to a woman who appeared to be holding an invitation as well. When she turned away from her companion to face him, her red curly hair parted to reveal a pretty, heart-shaped face. “I’m sorry, but do you know where we turn these in?”

She squinted her eyes at the invitation he was holding up as she approached. Now that she was coming closer, he could clearly see that the paper she was holding was not an invitation. He was only able to make out the word ‘Crime’ in the header before she turned it. “Turn what in?”

“The invitation.”

“Invitation?” the woman laughed, trying to get a better look and bringing his hand closer to do so. “There are no invitations.”

Jack pulled his hand back from her grasp, the sharpness in her gaze making him feel oddly exposed. “The one in my hand begs to differ.”

“And that’s from Lecter himself?”

“He sent it over, yes.”

“That makes you the first I’ve ever heard of.” There was a shrewdness in her face now that made her look almost hungry. “Tell me, how do you know him, Jack?”

“I don’t. And I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Apologies,” she said, holding out her gloved hand and looking anything but apologetic. “Freddie Lounds.”

After quickly shaking her hand, Jack placed the invitation back in his pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.” He turned away from her, an unsettled feeling churning in his stomach.

“Yes,” she replied, even as he walked away. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun.”

Deciding that his best course of action would be to follow the crowd, Jack slipped into the throngs of party-goers excitedly walking towards the brightly lit castle set back a ways from the entrance. Castle was not an exaggeration of what Lecter’s house was either, Jack noted with some awe. Several turrets rose from the three-story stone structure that stretched the length of nothing short of a football field. The looping driveway was lined with exotic cars, some of which he wasn’t sure were even legal and one which he knew for a fact was a concept. It was those cars that were capturing everyone’s attention before they entered the house, but what gave Jack pause was the marble fountain in the center.

At first glance it seemed like every other ornate fountain he’d ever seen, complete with dramatically posed bodies and strategically placed spouts to pour forth water. But on closer inspection, it was far more intricate and much darker a piece than he had originally perceived.

The base was composed of female and male bodies twisting towards the left, their hair styled messily as if they were caught in a wind tunnel. All their hands seemed to be reaching for each other in a desperate bid for contact, but not to anchor themselves. He noticed that a male had a hand gripping a female’s thigh, her hand squeezing a male’s buttocks, and one of his hands covering the privates of another male’s. For the life of him, Jack couldn’t tell whether the screams on their faces were born of pleasure or terror.

On the next tier the arched bodies seemed to be arranged in a more peaceful manner, until you saw their faces. Two or three of them had their arms wrapped around themselves as one does when attempting to stave off the cold. Others had their hands cupped in front of them, water from the fountain pooling in their hands and spilling over. All of them had their mouths open and looking upwards, the water giving them the effect of trying to drink rain in a fruitless attempt to quench a terrible thirst.

Raised marble gave the illusion of waves encircling the top tier. This level, Jack supposed, was not as initially deceptive as the others. The female and male bodies were all in various poses of violence. A few seemed to be attempting to choke the life out of others while some seemed to be trying to break another’s neck. Some looked to be biting and scratching as others threw punches. The fierce concentration on all their faces seemed warped and agonized.

Standing proud at the top was the pièce de résistance of the fountain. It was a statue of two men, one draped over the other’s arm as he thrust his sword into the sky in victory. It was reminiscent of a statue of Achilles and Patroclus he had once encountered in Florence, except that one was to immortalize the death of Patroclus and Achilles’ devastation. None of that solemn loss was here, just triumph in conquest over some unseen trial. Jack was transfixed by the look on this Achilles face when a loud crack reverberated through the air.

Spinning on his heel, Jack saw a round of fireworks sparkle in the clear night sky. Elated cries from the crowd and small popping sounds caught his attention and he finally moved away from the fountain and towards the house. People running past Jack to get inside jostled him and he got swept into the flow, their current leading him up the steps and towards the doors. When he finally made it inside, he gasped at the sight before him.

There was a trapeze set up that spanned the length of the massive open foyer where acrobats were swinging their lithe bodies between bars or into the hands of another. Off to the sides there were two performers doing an aerial routine on red silk ropes, their dramatic falls before they caught themselves at the bottom receiving rounds of applause from the audience filling the room. Jack found himself clapping when one of the acrobats swung into the hands of another trapeze artist, only to back flip immediately into the hands of another one.

“Cirque du Soleil is doing a show tomorrow at the Radio City Music Hall. Lecter somehow managed to convince them to make a stop here.”

“Throw a few hundred thousand in my face and you could convince me to make a stop here, clean the house in lederhosen, and serve myself up for dessert.”

“Please, you’ve never even seen Lecter. I’ve heard he’s disfigured and that’s why no one’s ever seen him.”

“If no one’s ever seen him, how do they know he’s disfigured?”

Jack didn’t catch the end of the conversation as he worked his way through a gap in the crowd and walked down the hallway leading into the heart of the house. There were a few mingling about, chatting with friends and having the discourtesy to smoke a joint inside. While he personally didn’t care about private drug use, the FBI part of him itched to take it from between their fingers and snuff it out beneath his shoe. He supposed there wasn’t much he could do, nor did he feel particularly inclined to explore his options; that is, until he entered what he assumed normally acted as the ballroom.

The acrid smell of cigar smoke permeated the room filled to the brim with a whole array of casino tables. Craps, baccarat, poker, roulette, blackjack, pai gow. Every table game you could hope to find in a casino was packed into the hall and encircled by both revelers and players alike. Compared to the other people he had seen, most in here were older and their clothes more formal, but no less flashy.

During his work up the FBI food chain, Jack had encountered illegal gambling rings, but nothing quite as elaborate. These people obviously knew what they were coming here for, which meant that this was a regular occurrence. There was something to be said for Lecter and his ability to be so open with his parties where gambling occurred and not get busted at some point. Although, now that he had gotten over his initial shock, the answer to his own question became very apparent, very quickly. 

If the director of the FBI is laughing as he passes a Cuban cigar to the very popular governor of New York at a nearby roulette table, odds are they are in no hurry to persecute the man hosting the event.

“First time?”

Jack turned to look at a man who was at about his shoulder’s height, around fifty pounds overweight, with a beard and short wavy hair that had been slicked back. He was wearing a sweater and jacket combo that serve his coloring well. “That obvious?”

“Everybody is a little overwhelmed their first time, but not enough to never come back.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Franklyn Froideveaux.”

“Jack Crawford,” he replied as he shook his hand, thankful to have someone to talk to.

“So what made you come here? Friend? Curiosity?”

“No, I got invited.”

The smile on Franklyn’s face slipped, his expression turning sour before his smile returned, only slightly frayed at the edges. “You, uh, you got invited? By Hannibal himself?”

Pulling the invitation out of his pocket again, he handed it to Franklyn, who took it overeagerly. “Why is everyone so surprised that I got invited?”

“Because nobody gets invited,” he said distractedly, his attention still firmly on the invitation. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t, or at least I haven’t in a long time. I can’t recall at the moment.”

“You got invited to his party but you don’t remember him?”

Alarm bells started going off in Jack’s head at Franklyn’s demeanor. He was overly curious, specifically about Lecter, and his tone had become incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe someone could forget the man in question. Jack couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something disquieting about him.

“You sound as if you know him.”

“I do. He’s my friend, or, I mean – he’s technically my psychiatrist, but I like to think we’re friends. I just have to pay to see him is all. I’ve joked about it with him.”

Fragments of understanding started to come to Jack then. Obsessive patient, perhaps? And, now that he knew Lecter was a psychiatrist, he started to think on what capacity he may have met him in. He felt the answer pull closer, but it was still out of reach.

“I see,” Jack started, trying to find a way to extricate himself from the conversation. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Franklyn, but I really must be going. I wouldn’t want to be invited to such a lovely party without at least trying to find Dr. Lecter.”

“You won’t find him, he’ll find you.”

Jack turned away from Franklyn at that vaguely ominous statement and made his way towards an elevator he had seen, the fact that he was in a house that had an elevator making him smirk in disbelief. When he stepped out of it onto the second story, he was pleased to find that there were far fewer people clogging its halls. There was a hallway to his right that seemed to lead directly out to the balcony overlooking the backyard and he walked towards it, deciding that he could use a break from the congestion of people and sheer excess of the entire affair.

As he stepped out onto the balcony, a light caught his eye and his gaze was directed across the bay. There was a green light acting as a beacon in the dark of the night’s black waters, rotating around until it flashed across his vision again. The light seemed to come from Will’s property and Jack found himself smiling at the thought, that his friend was so close and yet just out of reach.

The crack of fireworks being set off again and launched into the night guided Jack’s eyes upwards. He relaxed his hands on the railing and watched as they popped in the sky and spun a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors amongst the stars. Some trailed off into nothingness as others left behind shimmering trails of gold. A few seemed to pop again while some seemed to burn out as soon as they’d been given life. The show went on for minutes before he felt a hand lay unobtrusively on the middle of his back.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good host,” an accented voice commented at his side.

Turning to see who had joined him, Jack’s heart stopped when his eyes locked on a set of hazel eyes he could never forget. Hazel eyes that seemed to be flecked with shards of red. They danced now in amusement and something else Jack couldn’t name as he held out a flute of champagne for him to take. His lips were pulled into an enigmatic smile that grew as the green light shined across his face.

It had been years since he had seen this man and at the time, he had no doubt that if they were to ever encounter each other again, it would not be a pleasant experience. After all, one does not usually repay suspicion with kindness.

“Hannibal.”


	3. Interwar Period

“Forgive me, Jack. I thought you remembered.”

Accepting the flute of champagne, Jack took a sip as a way to grant himself a moment to regain his grasp on the situation, which moments before had led him to believe he had at least a modicum of control over what was going to happen. The man standing before him threw a wrench into everything he thought might happen when he came face to face with his extravagant, but so far unseen, neighbor. A friendly “hello, nice to meet you” or “long time no see” certainly seemed out of the question.

It wasn’t just his eyes, slicked back hair, and distinctive facial features that jogged Jack’s memory either, but his loud style of dress. His maroon velvet dinner jacket and the matching striped ascot certainly weren’t likely to be worn by someone of a conservative disposition. The outfit certainly played well into the wardrobe he could recall of Dr. Lecter’s; all three-piece patterned suits, none of which were in the standard black or grey. Everything about his appearance seemed to serve as a reminder.

“I certainly remember you now,” Jack said with lightness he didn’t feel. He tipped his glass towards him in thanks and smiled. “It would seem my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“No need for self-deprecation,” Hannibal replied, placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him back inside, Jack instantly missing the open environment the balcony provided. “After all, the few times we did encounter each other were brief and, shall we say, business oriented?”

_That was certainly one way to put it_ , Jack thought. They were walking down a dark hallway, one which was absent of partygoers but was, surprisingly, occupied by two bodyguards hiding in doorways on either side of the hall. Jack’s perception that the whole house was open for perusal was now shot down; an illusion of openness all meant to distract from the closely guarded.

Coming to a stop outside an ornate wood door, Hannibal smiled at Jack before pulling a small brass key from inside his dinner jacket and turning it in the lock. They heavy door swung open to reveal a library that was as many stories tall as the house itself. Jack looked around in awe as he stepped onto the balcony that ran along the entire second level.

“A collection of all the books I have ever read,” Hannibal informed him as he came to stand at his side. “All the knowledge I have amassed from tomes lies within this room; a living, breathing monument to all the lives I have vicariously lived and the wisdom they have imparted on me, actualized into a tangible place.”

“The physical presence of thought.”

“When the world outside becomes too ugly and my heart turns to despair, I retreat to the comfort of this room.” His wistful tone, heavy enough to resonate it Jack’s chest, turned inviting as he squeezed his forearm. “Come, Jack. I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re more a scotch man than champagne.”

The heel clicks of Hannibal’s patent leather oxfords seemed to be absorbed into the large space as he walked towards the spiral staircase tucked into the corner of the East and South wall, Jack watching his hand trail lovingly along the mahogany railing. Jack soon followed at a slower pace, distracted by the books he passed. From what he could tell, he was in a section dedicated to medical texts of all different languages.

Walking down the staircase and coming to a stop at the wall along its exit, Jack noticed that the shelves were encased behind a glass and steel front, the glass seeming to have a tint to it. The whole thing was temperature and humidity controlled, which meant that the books enclosed were likely incredibly old, some potentially being first editions. Noticing that Hannibal had prepared their snifters of scotch, Jack abandoned the wall and joined him at the leather seats he had before the fireplace.

“I must apologize for inviting to my party on such short notice. I suppose that I put too much faith in my ‘come one, come all’ approach to them and assumed you would eventually come of your own accord.”

Jack sipped at his scotch, appreciating its smooth burn as he swallowed. “I confess that the thought never occurred to me to come. If I had known it was yours... well, I would have assumed you would have preferred for me to steer clear.”

“We are different men than we were five years ago. I believe that period in time for us is best not given any credence, nevertheless considered.”

“Let bygones be bygones?”

“That hatchet has long since been buried,” Hannibal said, his lips quirking at the corner. “I am far removed from that life, aside from my practice of course.”

“Where is your practice now?”

“Manhattan. I renovated the brownstone I purchased for it at the same time as this house.”

Letting his gaze wander towards the ceiling, Jack nodded as he took in the breathtaking stone cathedral arches. “Yes, I heard your renovations turned a few heads.”

“Destruction of what is and what should never be tends to do that,” Hannibal conceded. “Everyone claimed to be appalled, yet they were all rubberneckers during the entire affair. Many of which are in the ballroom as we speak, enjoying the spoils.”

“Condemning it with words, but reveling in it with actions. Hypocrisy at its finest.”

“So it would seem.” There was a deliberate pause before he spoke again. “Tell me, when did you move in, Jack? I had assumed it was recently but you knowing about my renovations would suggest otherwise.”

Jack looked out the windows running up the length of the wall facing the backyard, the green light shining across his vision. “You and I are not the only ones seeking a bit of solace from our previous life here.”

“Oh? And who else has joined our ranks?”

“Will Graham.”

“...has he?”

“Yes,” Jack confirmed, taking another drink. “I had lunch with him yesterday. He also seems to remember you.”

“Does he?”

Looking at him, Jack was stunned to note the same cracks of desperation and hope that shattered Will’s placid expression breaking across Hannibal’s. He was far more reserved, his need only showing around his eyes and in the crack of his tone, but compared to the image he had been projecting, the shift was obvious. How two such diametrically opposed people could reflect one another so perfectly for an instant bewildered Jack. Will, with his quiet reserve and need for privacy, couldn’t be more different from the opulent, extravaganza host sitting next to him.

Jack wanted to think he was reading too far into Will and Hannibal, that it had been so long since he had seen them that he was looking too hard for points of familiarity, but something in his gut told him to not disregard the impressions.

“I understand if you don’t want me to talk about him -”

“No, no, that’s quite alright,” Hannibal interrupted, voice smoothing over its previous over-eagerness. “How is good Will? Fully recovered I would assume?”

“He looked good. A hell of a lot better than the last time we saw him.”

Hannibal’s lips pursed as he considered Jack, green light flashing through the windows over his face. “But we both know that his physical appearance is not what was of concern.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

The sip of scotch Jack swallowed was bigger than his previous and the burn harsher for it. Jack wondered if he would always feel regret when he thought Will and what he pushed him through. The entire experience still stung, the barbed edges of the memory forever serving as a reminder of his bastardized ethics and moral code. For someone who saw themselves as a force of good, it was a brutal keepsake of what he was capable of.

“You’re worried about him still.”

“I think a part of me will always be worried about him.”

“Will is a man of his own creation. You are no more responsible for what happened than Mother Nature herself.”

Setting his snifter aside, Jack shook his head. “Mother Nature didn’t push him the way I did.”

“Something about your recent visit with Will has unsettled you.” Hannibal leaned forward and scrutinized Jack’s face, looking for tells that would give him away. “You believe he hasn’t recovered.”

“I think he’s recovered as much as he can.”

“Close your eyes and think back to when you first met Will.”

With some reluctance, Jack leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, the memory coming to him instantaneously.

_“And it is with the desire to evaluate and understand serial killers, so we can one day stop them before they begin, that I officially open the Evil Minds Research Museum.”_

_Applause greeted the commencement and Jack bowed to them with a grim face, wanting to convey thanks for their appreciation of his efforts but not enough to look pleased or like it was expected. As he walked off the podium, many of those invited came over to congratulate him on his achievement, most notably the director himself._

_“Great work, Agent Crawford,” Director Philip Simon said, shaking his hand. “I know this has been a passion project of yours for a few years now.”_

_“I’m just happy to finally have it up and running, sir. I know you took a lot of flak for supporting it.”_

_“The benefits of such an endeavor far outweigh any concerns and a few complaints.”_

_Jack crossed his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly defensive. The museum was opened with only the intention of aiding research into the mind of serial killers; it wasn’t even open to the public and they made no profit off of it. In fact, he thought it could almost be considered a money pit because it took up the basement space of the Academy (which was looking to expand) and they were going to pay for the flight and lodgings of any experts and analysts they felt could contribute to the research being conducted. The last thing he wanted to do was give the victim’s families something to sue over, claiming the government was profiting off their relative’s death and suing the FBI for all it was worth._

_“Hasn’t even opened and there’s already complaints. All families of the victims?”_

_“Aside from one which is more, um, embarrassing than anything.”_

_“Embarrassing? How so?”_

_“Are you familiar with Will Graham?”_

_He knew plenty about the man, but never had the pleasure of meeting him. A New Orleans’ cop turned Academy professor, Graham was as known for his profound profiling gifts as much as he was for his awkward and standoff-ish approach to teaching. The Academy had been thrilled to get him, considering him an asset as he was widely regarded as the most skilled criminal profiler in the US due to his unique cocktail of neuroses, but soon found out that it came with a price. He refused to attend official functions, only got along with a handful of colleagues and barely tolerated the rest, and had very memorably gotten into a spat with a tenured profiler by calling his profile on the Chesapeake Ripper ‘unimaginative keyboard ramblings.’ After reading the profile, Jack (and many of the other agents, he later found out) agreed with his assessment, but all it did was add to the unapproachable air that seem to trail after him like toilet paper to a shoe._

_But Jack knew Graham wasn’t as bad as he appeared to be on the surface. He had developed a reputation for having one of the harder classes to pass, but Jack also knew that his former students were among the best and were highly coveted by departments accepting interns. And, unlike many of his fellow professors, he kept to his scheduled office hours. Jack had passed his office several times and always noticed that his availability sign was posted on the door and he was sat inside behind his desk grading papers, as if he were patiently waiting for someone to come see him._

_Jack had been looking for an excuse to meet him and Director Simon may have just given him one._

_“His reputation precedes him.”_

_The director chuckled and nodded his head. “It certainly does. He’s here, you know.”_

_“I wouldn’t have expected him to be, given the circumstances,” Jack said as he craned his head looking for Graham._

_“Perhaps he wants to chastise you in person,” he teased, giving Jack’s hand one last shake. “Good work, Jack. A job well done.”_

_“Thank you, sir.”_

_Once he left, Jack started moving through the crowd, all the while scanning for any sign of Graham. He eventually found him alone looking up at a collection of framed John Wayne Gacy clown drawings hangning on the wood paneled walls. His untamed curls, flannel shirt, and khaki pants made him stand out amongst all the suits and dresses._

_“What do you see?”_

_Graham turned and looked up at Jack, the eye contact lasting only a second before he diverted his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Dirty light.”_

_Jack felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “I don’t understand.”_

_“The world was hazy to him, like walking into a thick fog without direction. He knew what he was doing, he just didn’t know why.”_

_“He did it because he liked it.”_

_“That, too,” he conceded, hands in his pockets and looking somewhere over Jack’s shoulder._

_“I’m sure he seems like small game to you.”_

_“Abusive childhood. Repressed hatred for his father. Frequent attempts to recapture the innocence of youth. Assaulted others in an attempt to take back the power that was taken from him. He’s as run of the mill as they come.”_

_“So you think we know all there is to know about him?”_

_Graham smirked and balked at him. “Poor pivot, Special Agent Crawford. You can do better.”_

_A part of Jack knew that if anyone else were to talk to him like that, he would be furious and quick to reprimand. Coming from Graham, it was almost a compliment. He extended his hand. “Jack Crawford. Call me Jack.”_

_He was a little shocked when Graham readily shook his hand. “Will Graham, but you already knew that.”_

_“Mister Graham -”_

_“Will, please. I don’t even have my students call me that.”_

_“Will, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your complaint with this research project? I thought it would be right up your alley.”_

_“It’s not the museum I have an issue with,” he replied, eyes trained on a figure behind him in a cell bar display wearing a straight jacket and face mask. “It’s the name.”_

_“What do you not like about the name?”_

_“Everything.”_

_Jack laughed at the bluntness. Will glanced back at him with a more genuine smile, looking almost grateful for his reaction. He looked ready to say something else when someone called out from a group nearby._

_“Jack!”_

_Acknowledging them with a wave of his hand, Jack smiled at him and held out his hand one more time, Will taking it. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Will.”_

_“You, too.”_

“Okay,” Jack said without opening his eyes.

“Now think of him yesterday,” Hannibal instructed, his voice deep and cajoling. “How do the pictures compare?”

_Genial. Sociable. Warm. Polite._

_...Fake._

Jack’s breath became shallow and his heart raced, the realization rocking him to his core. Will was just as much a man trapped in an oppressive fog like he described all those years ago, with one very clear difference: he knew exactly what he was doing. He had recovered alright, but recovered into _what_ , he did not know.


	4. Prohibition

Standing inside Hannibal’s garage, Jack took note of the twenty or so cars sitting in their respective spots. Some were newer, like the black 2003 Bentley Arnage T, and some were much older, the fully restored 1908 Ford Model T immediately capturing his attention. There was at least several million dollars worth of cars in that one room and the excess of it all made Jack uneasy. He knew Hannibal was wealthy, ridiculously so, the house alone was proof enough of that, but there was something suspect about someone who wasn’t actually interested in cars amassing a collection of the rarest and most exotic in the world. It struck him as a classic case of overcompensation, but that didn’t seem to fit either. All he could say with any certainty was that it was flashy.

“Any of them strike your fancy?”

Jack was half tempted to say the new Jaguar XJR was nice just because it was easily the most affordable car in the room, but he didn’t think Hannibal would see the humor in that. He chose honestly instead.

“The ’28 Duesenberg. I haven’t seen one since I was a kid and my mom took me to a car museum for my birthday.”

“Ah. A personal favorite of mine.” Hannibal walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a set of keys. “Nobody ever misses you coming.”

Chuckling at Hannibal’s observation, Jack nodded his agreement. “That’s one way to put it.”

Hannibal came to stand in front of him and dangled the keys from his forefinger. Jack looked between them and Hannibal’s mischievous smile.

“What?”

“Would you like to drive it?”

Jack took a startled step back and waved his hands in protest, Hannibal’s smile stretching until Jack caught sight of his sharp teeth. “No, no. I, um, I don’t think I should do that.”

“Why not? I’m sure you wished to drive one as a child.”

“Yes, but that was before I knew what insurance premiums were.”

“I can assure you that the premium has been paid,” Hannibal laughed, still holding out the keys. “It’s even got personal property insurance on it. Nothing to worry about.”

“As much as I would like to, I can’t. I’d be driving down the highway at 5 miles an hour because I’d be too scared of crashing it.”

Finally acquiescing, Hannibal fisted the keys and walked towards the bright yellow car. “If you say so, but I insist on us using it for the day.”

Jack hesitantly, but excitedly, made his way over to the passenger side and climbed in. The purr of the engine reverberated through the car and Jack smiled at the prospect of driving through New York in a car that became a legend on those very streets. With the top down, Hannibal gunned it out of the garage and down the driveway, turning onto the neighborhood road without so much as a second glance or slowing down.

“I guess you know why this car became famous,” Jack yelled over the wind roaring past them.

“Street racing,” Hannibal answered, a smile on his face even as his perfectly styled hair got messier by the second. “Would you care to take a guess who once owned this car?”

“Rockefeller?”

Hannibal shifted gears as he slowed down now that they were in the congested traffic of the city streets. “George Remus.”

“The King of Bootleggers?”

“Rumor has it that he once evaded policemen in this very car.”

“In my experience, rumors don’t amount to much.” As Jack watched cars go by, he noticed many of their occupants were pointing at the car, some taking pictures as they drove. “You should hear the one I heard about you.”

“Which is it this week? Third cousin to Putin or second cousin to the devil himself?”

Worried that he had touched on a sore spot, Jack looked back at Hannibal. He was relieved to note that he didn’t look upset. In fact, he looked greatly amused by what his partygoers said behind his back.

“Disfigured recluse.”

“Like Beast waiting for Beauty to save him from a damnation of his own making,” he said, the dregs of an errant emotion passing over his face before he stopped it with a smile. “That certainly qualifies as one of the more interesting theories to pass through my door.”

Both fell silent then as Hannibal sped into what was colloquially known as the Valley of Ashes. A forgotten wasteland of abandoned factories and warehouses, it stood as a testament to the decline of what used to be referred to as the working class. Men and women once slaved away in those buildings, working their hands hard enough to callous as they breathed in asbestos attributable to substandard conditions. It was a gritty, hard life they led and here it lay dying, gasping for breath through a blocked straw. Smog always seemed to coat the air, discoloring everything so it looked dull even at its most splendid. Jack could feel the thickness of it as it filled his lungs.

Hidden behind swirling clouds of dust was a large sign advertising Dr. T.J. Eckleburg’s optometry practice, the ad subconsciously signaling to Jack to feel his inner-pocket for his glasses. He felt them when he patted the front of his jacket, their shape giving him a small measure of comfort as he watched the shadows of ghosts fill the windows and doorways. The feeling of being watched only dissipated as they emerged onto a side street which led them directly to the Queensborough Bridge.

Once they got through the congestion of the bridge and into Manhattan proper, it wasn’t long before Hannibal pulled up in front of a barber shop, his parking so easily serving as more a surprise than the location itself.

“Come, Jack. There’s more here than meets the eye.”

Following him into the shop, Jack noticed that there were not many patrons inside and the few that were seemed to sit up straighter when Hannibal walked in. Hannibal shook hands with the man behind the counter, both exchanging pleasantries after he introduced Jack, before he walked to the far wall and knocked a pattern. Not a second after he finished, a portion of the wall slid to the side and gave way to a brick stairwell.

“An old speakeasy,” Hannibal informed him as he disappeared into the hallway with Jack not far behind. The panel closed behind them. “A remnant from a time when God’s favorite drink wasn’t allowed in God’s country.”

“I didn’t know any of these still existed.”

“Few do and those that are remain staunchly private to maintain their air of exclusivity. This one is members and -,” Hannibal turned around and laid a hand on his shoulder. “-member’s friends only.”

They descended the stairwell and came to a stop in a small entry area with a pretty hostess. Jack could hear jazz music playing from behind the door.

“Welcome back, Dr. Lecter,” she warmly greeted him. “Reservation for you plus one. I’m assuming this is him?”

“Yes. Mr. Jack Crawford.”

“Excellent. If you two will follow me.”

When she pushed the door aside, the music became clear and the scene inside came into focus. There was a long bar that lined the entire wall on his right and at the far end was a stage and dance floor. The rest of the space was dotted with tables and plush chairs, their spot being front and center. Jack was stunned that nearly all the seats were filled and those who noticed their entrance seemed to clamber for a chance to greet Hannibal and his guest. Once they finally made it to their table and were seated, the hostess left them with menus that had no listed prices.

A shiver of self-consciousness slithered up Jack’s spine as he looked over the menu. He had come from a poor family that had a difficult time affording enough food to put on the table, nevertheless going to a restaurant piloted by a Michelin star chef offering up a selection of classic Americana. Something in him shirked at the thought of someone paying for him or paying way too much for his own meal, but he knew any refusal on his part would appear rude and he wasn’t ready to challenge the shaky nature of their newfound friendship just yet.

“Well, I’ll be damned. When did you slither in here?”

Jack looked up from his menu to see who came over to their table. His voice seemed to war with his words, his tone exuberant but his greeting vaguely discourteous. It matched his appearance, his hair a mess of golden locks and his white bespoke suit paired with a pastel pink shirt. Whoever he was, his whole being was dichotomous.

“Hello, Mason,” Hannibal said, his tone tolerant. As he stood to shake his hand, Mason turned away and grabbed a chair, spinning it around so he could straddle it as he faced their table. Hannibal sat back down, his irritation with the slight tightly reigned in. “Mason, this is Jack. Jack, meet Mason Verger.”

“It’s a pleasure -”

“You know, when I heard you were bringing a guest, I had to come see who it was,” Mason interrupted, effectively stopping Jack from having to lie through his teeth. “I checked the books and everything. You’ve never brought anyone!”

“I felt it was time to remedy that.”

Mason pointed at each of them. “Is he your date? I took you for more the upper-class tart fucker than bear hunter.”

Jack felt his jaw drop at the crass exclamation and he could see that Hannibal had somehow pulled himself in tighter, as if his natural reaction to Mason’s loose and offensive nature was to become more proper. He fixed the lapels of his dark blue windowpane checked jacket as if he were involved in a conversation no more interesting than the weather.

“No, Mason, he is not my date. I -”

“There I go again! Getting too personal. I know, I know. It’s a weakness of mine,” he laughed, its high pitch grating. “I’ll pick up the tab as a way of saying sorry. Papa always said the best way to apologize was to throw money at the problem, so here I am!”

“That won’t be -”

“I said don’t worry about it.” It was as if a switch flipped. One second he was flamboyant and the next he was stone-cold, leaning into Hannibal’s personal space with a flat glare. “You wouldn’t want to be rude now, would you?”

Jack was amazed that Hannibal didn’t flinch away or show any outward signs of discomfort at Mason’s display. He kept his face placid and eyes flat. There was almost something all the more threatening about Hannibal’s body language than Mason’s.

“Of course not.”

“Now that’s the spirit!” he exclaimed as he stood from the table and kicked his chair away. “Please, enjoy your meal! Go crazy! It’s on me.”

With that last assurance, he walked away and Jack felt himself take in a deep breath of relief. Mason was perhaps the most disturbing person he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting outside of the line of duty and it wasn’t until that moment he realized how oppressive a presence he was. Hannibal laid a hand on his arm reassuringly.

“I am so sorry, Jack. Forgive me. I did not realize he would be here.”

“Mason Verger...,” Jack trailed off, wracking his brain for its ring of familiarity. “I know that name.”

“He is the heir of the Verger meat packing dynasty. Or, should I say _was_ the heir. His sister Margot had a child, a boy, as per her father’s will, which gave the family the excuse they’d been looking for to finally push him out of the business in favor of the more stable heir.”

“And you know him? How?”

“He owns this place. Inherited from his father, of course.”

Jack nodded and turned back to the menu for a distraction. “How do you deal with someone like that?” he asked offhandedly.

“I remember that the rude always have a way of getting eaten.”

After they ordered their lunches, Jack and Hannibal sat back and listened to the jazz band gracing the stage, their vocalist’s voice reminding him of the jazz albums his mother would play when she was baking. He felt his phone vibrate twice in his pocket and he sent it to voicemail both times because he was enjoying the music and he didn’t want to break the unspoken rule of no phones. Only after they finished their set did he apologize to Hannibal and sneak a peek at it under the table, his brow furrowing in confusion when he saw that Will had been the one to call and send a single text message when he realized his call wasn’t going to be accepted.

**_We need to talk._ **

“Is something wrong, Jack?”

“No, um.” He struggled for a way to explain the situation and he turned in his chair to better watch Hannibal’s reaction. “Will called.”

Just as he thought, something untamed cracked beneath the surface without creating any discernible waves. His gut told him that he now had Hannibal’s undivided attention. Someone could be getting murdered at the table next to them and he wouldn’t notice.

“Is that unusual?”

“I don’t know. We just reconnected a week or so ago.”

“What has you so concerned?”

“Not concerned; more curious than anything. He seems insistent.”

Hannibal’s lips seemed to lift at the corners. “He can be quite determined when he wants to be.”

“Yes, he can.” Leaning back, he looked at the text again and remembered what Will said at the end of the conversation when he saw him. _Pick up where we left off_. That message seemed to affirm that he meant it. “I think he intends to interrogate me about you.”

“Considering the way we left off, I wouldn’t expect any less. And now that he knows I’m close, his curiosity has piqued.”

Jack rubbed his hand across his lips, thinking about the best way to navigate through what could be a sticky situation. A part of him knew he owed Will, needed to give him everything he could in the hopes that it could ease the pain of past mistakes. But another, very loud part, said he was already in way over his head and the farther he got in, the less chance he had of getting out.

“I don’t know what to do. Invite him over for lunch and let him dig the information out of me?”

“Why not?”

The suggestion seemed like a long shot when he said it, but now that Hannibal had made it sound like it wasn’t a bad idea, he started to see the merits in it. It would be in his own place, an environment he could control, and Will was always more receptive to courtesy. The sooner they talked, the easier he would be to work with.

“Why don’t I do you one better? Set a time and I will come over. Best to give him the source than let him kill the messenger.”

As Jack ruminated on the suggestion, he missed Hannibal close his eyes and breathe deeply, a look of victory on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you kinda want to punch Mason in the face??? I sure do

**Author's Note:**

> Unless otherwise noted, updates will be on Fridays!
> 
> Thank you for your kudos, comments, critiques, angry banshee screams, or whatever you leave for me here or at my Tumblr ***[mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)***
> 
> COVER BY VULCANPLOMEEKSOUP IS [HERE](http://vulcanplomeeksoup.tumblr.com/post/150753775210/heres-my-art-for-the-awesome-the-great-gatsby-au)
> 
> PICSET BY MIRAYUUKI IS [HERE](http://mirayuuki.tumblr.com/post/151152489549)


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